


bloom beyond the looking glass

by harmony



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, but this is a fix-it so HAPPY ENDING YAY, does not take anything from the dawn of the future novel into account, mentions of (temporary) character death, this fic was written for the Ignoct Big Bang 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 08:02:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22492747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harmony/pseuds/harmony
Summary: Ignis doesn't understand why he's being made to see these mysterious visions, or where they're even coming from - because what they're showing should be impossible. After all, Noctis isn't even alive, and the two of them had never been lovers before.… Right?(Or: post-canon fix-it in which an accidental tear in the fabric of space causes Verse 1 and Verse 2 to bleed into each other, giving Ignis a clear view of his other self's vibrant, happy life with Noctis).
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia
Comments: 37
Kudos: 125
Collections: The Ignoct Big Bang 2019





	bloom beyond the looking glass

**Author's Note:**

> Another post-canon fix-it! It's only my second one for ignoct but I hope none of you are tired of fix-its, because I love writing them, lol. These boys always deserve to be together and happy, right? ♥️
> 
> This was written for the [Ignoct Big Bang 2019](https://twitter.com/ignoctbigbang/), and man, it's honestly been an emotional piece for me to write. I was swimming in feels for so much of the writing process, haha. A very sincere thank you to [He1chou](https://twitter.com/HE1Chou) for drawing the lovely accompanying art to this fic (which you will see close to the end of the fic!), as well as Ari and Val for helping me figure out some canon lore-related stuff - all the relevant nitty-gritty details in this fic would make much less sense without your kind assistance and input! And thank you to Mod T for organizing this event too, I'm so glad I was able to participate :)
> 
>  **Edit:** The wonderful HardNoctLife has since done an incredible partial podcast of this fic - [find it here](https://twitter.com/HardNoctLife/status/1223410852235284481)!  
> Additionally, my awesome friend Scarlett has also given me an absolutely stunning piece of art for this fic - she wasn't officially partnered with me for the Big Bang event so her art piece isn't the one featured here, but you can check it out on her Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/katyscarart/status/1224215922887593989)!
> 
> Thank you for clicking in - I hope y'all enjoy!

Even after all this time, Noctis still hasn’t stopped being a sight for sore eyes.

Though as a general whole, Ignis can’t remember Noctis ever having looked like this. Like he’s gracefully aged in the last ten years: a hardier steel to his eyes, a straighter poise to his backbone and shoulders, a more chiseled jaw framed by tousles of slightly longer hair. But Ignis can see, somehow – hindsight, insight, foresight, _sight itself_ , all of it. And he knows with every last thread keeping his body together that this is definitely Noctis that he’s looking at. No mistake.

Noctis is perched high above him, seated a number of feet away on the throne, but it’s almost as though the distance between them isn’t even there with how they close they feel, breaths pulling in and trickling out in time with each other’s, the dull rhythms of their living blood-beats overlapping in the silence.

Ignis makes a start to move up the stairway either way, one step at a time, each footfall echoing in the vast space around them like another throb of his pulse, like another resounding thing that he’s held close to his heart – up, up, up, a victorious fight, a peace hard-won, a meaningful friendship … and simply _them_.

Ignis and Noctis, living happily ever after.

He bends himself at the waist, tilting himself down into a bow.

‘… Your Majesty.’

Noctis’ answering smile is softly curved; painfully handsome and woven throughout with a comfortable ease that, right now, Ignis knows is reserved for him alone.

Just seeing it sends a slow honeyed warmth all the way down to the tips of his toes, like there’s no separation of king and advisor between the two of them.

Then again, in the end, there probably never really has been.

Noctis opens his mouth to say something; but suddenly, for some reason that Ignis can’t understand, it’s Prompto’s voice that he can hear coming out, and—

‘… Iggy? Dude. _Wake up_!’

Distantly, he has enough sense to vaguely wonder whether this has anything to do with his lapse in judgment back at Zegnautus Keep.

He’s jolted abruptly out of the smoky tendrils of dreamful sleep into the familiar empty cold and dark of his blindness.

* * *

Not two days ago, he’d been at a long–past version of Zegnautus Keep, and there’d been a hollower chill soaking the air between its walls than he’d ever remembered at that point in history and time.

Not that it’d ever been anything less than unsettling, unnerving, teeming with the kind of stony disquiet that’d always bled into his very bones. But he was there, journeying back in time, for good reason; so he’d resolutely pulled himself up from the ground, and stared Ardyn square in the eye.

_Why not come with me? What do you say?_

More than a decade back, he’d made a different choice from this one. He’d wandered down a different path, and done what he’d had to. He’d gone with his first instinct to fight back, and that’d ended up—

‘—Have I piqued your curiosity? You must have so many questions,’ Ardyn was sneering, voice silky and biting like white wine. ‘Seek the answers yourself. If you dare.’

It was overwhelming and disorienting for Ignis as is, being thrown back into a bygone variant of his body that could still see after a decade of jet-black blindness, but his hearing was still as sharp and seasoned enough in this past version of himself to rival what it’d grown to become through all those sightless years; tiny snuffles and miniscule canine footsteps were fluttering not too far away, in the shadows cloaking the looming walls, and just like that, an all-consuming relief had immediately filled him from edge to edge.

Thank the Astrals that Umbra had somehow managed to follow him that closely, unnoticed.

Which was altogether a good thing, because Ignis had barely taken a single step forward into the dreary murk after Ardyn had left the vicinity when an unexpected wash of dread had stopped him cold.

He was suddenly all too aware, right then and there, that Noctis wouldn’t have asked for this.

Noctis wouldn’t have _wanted_ this.

Not when swerving over to a different decision meant that Ignis was now being led down an unknown, uncertain road with a future he couldn’t predict for sure. Not when there was every chance that, even if Noctis had struggled with accepting the hand that he’d been dealt, he’d definitely still take that fate and die with humble grace any day if it meant not throwing the entire world under the bus.

Not when Ignis did know, in the deep, dark corners of his chest, that he was really mostly doing this for himself.

‘… Umbra,’ he’d murmured under his breath, slow and full of caution. ‘Take me back.’

He’d _missed_ Noctis to the point where it hurt in every inch of the gaping hole left behind inside his ribcage. But no, it wouldn’t have been right to try to change things in this way – even if he’d already made an alternate choice as of that very moment, and had therefore already made some degree of a dangerous headway into a new, uncharted future.

Soon enough, his consciousness, his awareness, and his surroundings were all swirling in a blinding flash of white, wild and hot and piercing; a surge of thrumming magic was sizzling like electricity through his veins.

And then – the strange buzz of static enveloping his shoulder blades was suddenly interrupted by a thunderously loud, massive, sickening _crack_ that ripped straight through the air.

Ignis had no idea what it was, but it hadn’t felt like any of his bones.

It was enough to knock him out cold, either way, which had never happened before in all the previous times that he and Umbra had visited the past.

He was still helplessly dizzy even when he came to not long later, the world spinning circles around his throbbing head and his vision shrouded in darkness again, right back at the point where he’d asked Umbra to take him to the past to begin with; right back to where he’d been nursing his inconsolable grief, his shattered heart.

Right back to _nothing_.

Not two days ago, he’d been at a long–past version of Zegnautus Keep, and something beneath his skin still stings raw and sore from it, even now.

* * *

‘… You’ve not yet retired for the evening, I see,’ Ignis says as he strides into the office.

Noctis turns around from his bookshelves with a hint of a smile, and patiently sets the record journal in his hands down onto his work desk.

‘I mean, when you’re up to your eyeballs in kingly obligations and all that stuff, that’s all you’re gonna end up doing day and night, right? You know how it is,’ Noctis replies pointedly, but the words are tender, appreciative. ‘And hey, you’re still hanging around this late too, so I’m guessing you’ve been swamped with just as much work tonight?’

Ignis can only marvel at how Noctis always just _knows_ him, almost like they’ve been breathing the same breath since the day they’d met. Almost like the branching paths of their veins have been knitted together for longer than he can even begin to measure.

‘I suppose you’ve caught me red-handed.’ He pushes up a single eyebrow, reveling in the warmth pooling at the base of his gut. ‘I’m done, though. And it really is getting quite late. Shall I escort you back to your chambers soon?’

At that, Noctis eyes him carefully, a small slip of pale teeth biting at the corner of his lower lip.

He shifts on his feet for a moment, as though steeling himself.

‘… You’re so good to me. I know I never say that enough,’ he says, voice low and sweet and _vulnerable_ , rippling with emotion. A dusky gaze flicks upward to interlock with Ignis’ own; war-roughened fingertips reach over to graze against the tip of Ignis’ elbow, and Ignis can feel every spark of that glimmering heat seeping down the line of his own backbone. ‘But yeah, sure. I’m not sleepy yet, though. Do you want to keep me company for a while in my room?’

It’s a gentle request in all respects, but Ignis can hear the dash of boldness simmering behind it, too.

His next inhale catches somewhere in his chest.

Because in the end, he’s spent so many years putting duty before anything else. But sometimes, he doesn’t really have to do more than look in Noctis’ direction to suddenly think that maybe putting himself first and doing what he wants, craving what he wants, _having_ what he wants is—

—The thought’s interrupted, out of the blue, by a firm grip and mild shake at his shoulder.

‘Iggy? _Iggy_.’

For the second time that week, he’s yanked straight out of the soft, bleary mist of sleep into brisk and sharp attention. A tiny crackling noise rolls somewhere in the distance; he pries his one functional eye open to nothing but pitch black.

His seat rumbles and tremors underneath him, enough to clear the hazy drowsiness from every corner of his mind, and he remembers, then, that he’s on the road back to Insomnia right now.

Another odd, unexplainable dream. Just like when Noctis had also crept into his dreams as he’d slept in the small hotel room that he’d shared with Prompto and Gladiolus a few days before, while they’d been out of town together on a job.

But he’s been blind for over a decade now, with most of the visual world having slipped away from him until they’re only a blur in his memory; until even his friends’ faces have mostly fallen beyond his grasp like sand spilling through the gaps between his fingers. To the point where dreaming about sights that he’s forgotten, and envisioning colors that he can’t particularly remember well, shouldn’t actually make _sense_.

‘… Hey, you were making noises in your sleep again,’ Gladiolus says from the driver’s seat next to him, voice tilting with pointed concern. ‘You doin’ alright?’

Truth be told, Ignis isn’t sure if he even knows how to formulate a proper answer to that.

* * *

Maybe it’d been selfish to have asked for braille to be set into Noctis’ memorial stone.

Because Ignis hasn’t ever really been the kind to ask for anything, truth be told – not often, at least. Not when all the veins and arteries and nerves in his body have been molded and wired to _give_ , drenched with enough selflessness and servitude and surrender over all the passing years to last a thousand lifetimes.

Prompto and Gladiolus hadn’t said anything when he’d made the request, though. Maybe they’d understood.

The miniscule dots of Noctis’ name press into his fingertips like a firm and steady comfort, and he guesses it’s nice to know that he’s able to have just _this one thing_.

* * *

The next time Ignis sees Noctis in his sleep, it’s hardly anything more than a light nap after work; nothing even remotely close to deep, proper slumber.

‘No, you don’t have to—’ Noctis says, his voice tight. He reaches down, delicately skimming his fingers against the little pocket of space below Ignis’ ear, and for how mild and weightless the touch is, it leaves Ignis’ skin on fire regardless. ‘Don’t kneel to me, Ignis. Not today.’

Noctis’ knuckle sweeps over to slot itself underneath Ignis’ cheekbone, and he tugs a little in request; with that, Ignis dissolves into the motion, respectfully rising, pulling himself up to his feet.

Callused fingertips trail softly down past Ignis’ jaw, lingering for a sliver of a moment before they drop away, causing Ignis’ breath to hitch.

The empty grand throne room yawns wide around them in its silence.

‘… It’s not an easy time, and you’re allowed to have bad days, Noct. They all always expect so much of you, don’t they,’ he murmurs, regret and understanding coloring his voice.

And Noctis’ face sags with relief like it’s everything to him that Ignis _gets it_.

Noctis takes a slow step in and is carefully winding his arms around Ignis’ shoulders to gather him into a tight, grateful hug, and Ignis is just starting to reciprocate by snaking his arms around Noctis’ waist in turn, when he’s suddenly jerked awake on the stiff cushioning of his couch with a hint of a crackle sizzling in his ears – and he has to wonder why he can still feel the weight and heat of Noctis’ arms around him even in his waking, why this doesn’t feel anything like a dream technically should.

* * *

In hindsight, the three of them separately procuring cheap apartments in the same building together had maybe been the most sensible idea they’ve ever agreed upon.

Because having dinner all together at Ignis’ for an evening isn’t exactly unusual for them nowadays. Nor is switching over to Gladiolus’ the next week; nor is going to Prompto’s the week after that; nor is being back at Ignis’ again afterward – a full circle to the unending grind of the passing, rolling days.

Habit, regularity, routine: a continuous rotation. And a sense of normality that Ignis is definitely finding easier to channel with friends this close by, especially given all the rebuilding that they have to take charge of and work on.

After all, habit, regularity, routine is how he’s always used to functioning.

At the end of the day, it’s probably the one way he knows how to cope.

* * *

One minute, he’s nodding off at his desk at home following a tiring day at work; the next thing he knows, he’s suddenly not at his desk anymore, or even at home – but in the Citadel gardens, dipped in pale streams of pearlescent moonlight.

And for whatever reason, he can see every small detail of it right now for the first time in more than a decade, even in his blindness.

Just as he can see Noctis in front of him, standing close enough that they’re barely inches apart.

‘… I told them no. Not after having lost Luna. If I had to get engaged again, it’d be on my own terms, I said. For, you know – love,’ Noctis says, a burst of exasperation pulling the words taut. ‘Didn’t go over well with basically the whole council, as you probably could’ve guessed, but I don’t care at this point. I’m literally King and I’ve already given so much, for once I need to get a damn _life_.’

‘Of course,’ Ignis agrees, tender and sympathetic. ‘We’re all bound by duty, but in the end, duty isn’t truly everything.’

Noctis’ eyes widen, as if he hadn’t expected that. ‘That’s kind of incredible, coming from you.’

‘Ten years of hardship does a lot to change someone.’ Ignis idly chews down on his cheek in thought. ‘And it’s a good lesson to learn. At times … I ought to remind myself that I need to chase my own happiness and do what I want once in a while, too.’

‘Yeah? And what would you want?’

That, if anything, gives Ignis pause. Because all in all, it isn’t exactly something that Ignis can put into words, or mold into any real shape; not when he’s spent a lifetime of discipline upholding his duty, and smothering nearly all self-serving wants in whatever way he’s able to.

He lowers his head in silence, teeth clamping down on his tongue.

And then, out of the blue, Noctis steps in even closer, before slowly reaching over to twist wiry fingers into the front of Ignis’ shirt, catching Ignis by surprise.

‘Just … I need to know. Do you maybe – do you want _this_?’ Noctis asks breathlessly, the words quivering at the edges. The blunt nails of his other hand flutter over the square of Ignis’ wrist, down Ignis’ palm, fingertips tentatively nudging into the spaces between Ignis’ own as if the question itself is stirring alive in the touch. ‘Do you want _me_?’

It’s enough to make the entire world drop away from beneath Ignis’ feet.

Tomorrow, they’ll have to go back to putting Lucis first. Tomorrow, their hands are likely going to be bound by the constraints of their work and the pressures of the royal court all over again. But for now – they’re here. Alone amid a vast spray of fragrant flowers and flourishing leaves, the open night sky flecked with gold-lit stars, _Ignis and Noctis_ and absolutely nothing else.

And that’s everything that they really need.

‘… Yes. Always,’ Ignis says with emphasis, voice coming out tremulous and unsteady. ‘ _Always_.’

And Noctis slopes in to kiss him like he’s starved for it, fevered and desperate and relieved all at once, until Ignis can only kiss him back with just as much urgency and exhilaration, their arms shifting to wind tight around each other while everything around them lies quiet, calm, still.

That is, until Ignis is suddenly pulled back awake, shirt dampened with sweat and his bearings in muddled disarray.

The strange sizzling noise that he’s heard twice before curls along his jawline like a tendril of static, crisp and biting, before fading away just as quickly as it’d come.

He gets up from his desk and makes an immediate beeline for the shower, turning the water on cold; to soothe his nerves, to realign his brain, to jolt himself with a reality check, _anything_. Because in all honesty, these dreams – or maybe they’re daydreams, at this point, because he’d only been drifting off just now instead of being fully asleep – definitely feel like they’re starting to tip the scales of _feeling too real_ to the extent that it’s hard for him to think of them as dreams, but at the same time, they’re still thoroughly impossible no matter which way he looks at it. At the end of the day, Noctis is gone, Ignis is blind, and they’d never been lovers before, so there’s nothing about any of the scenarios Ignis has been seeing that fits into the timeline or nature of his current life circumstances.

Almost as if they’re showing events taking place in a completely different universe.

It’s only when he’s stripped all the way down and the water’s finally cascading over his open pores that he’s able to ground himself a little.

That said, his skin is still tingling from the phantom pressure of Noctis’ arms around him, and Noctis’ mouth gliding against his own.

It’s barely twenty minutes later that he’s wandering up the Citadel steps for the second time that day, a flask of hot coffee under his arm and the cool nighttime air swirling against his collarbones; any level of distraction, even going back to work late at night when he’s already worn out, would be better than being cooped up in the apartment right now with his imagination running wild, as far as he’s concerned.

Then again, though, said imagination may very well be persistent in sticking with him at the moment. Because in the corner of his eye, he thinks he can actually _see_ a pale smudge through the all-consuming black of his blindness – an impossible faint blur taking the vague shape of a figure standing at the top of the stairs.

Which, for some reason, is accompanied by a soft, fleeting murmur that sounds a little too much like the low rasp of Noctis’ voice.

* * *

‘The doctor’s attributed it to stress. Likely even post-traumatic stress,’ Ignis says outright, each syllable smooth and unwavering.

On his left, Prompto audibly shuffles on his feet and clears his throat; on his right, Gladiolus shifts his weight and hums in understanding acceptance.

‘Well … whatever the case may be, we’ve got your back.’ Gladiolus’ tone rings cautious, meaningful, as if there’s plenty he wants to say, but is carefully holding his tongue. ‘Just make sure to rest and recover, yeah? Give yourself time. And, like, don’t be a stranger.’

‘Always here for you, buddy.’ Prompto gives a hearty, friendly clap to Ignis’ back. ‘Hope the bad dreams go away soon.’

And Ignis’ mouth skews into a slight frown at that.

Because it’s not like he’s explained everything in enough detail to his friends for them to know exactly what’s going on, but for the most part, he can’t particularly bring himself to call them _bad dreams_ – especially when it’s hard enough to say for certain, at this stage, that they’re actually even dreams in the simplest sense.

Not when they resonate as sonorously in his blood and bones as though he’s physically present in every scene. Not when he wakes up every single time literally being able to feel the leftover traces of Noctis’ presence, hear the echoes of Noctis’ murmurs, smell the warmth of Noctis’ skin.

Not when he’s straight-up been _seeing_ Noctis, sightless as he is.

In any case, he’s not exactly eager to give even an inch of space to the thought that he may possibly be going mad.

‘… I appreciate that,’ is all he answers, steady and calm. ‘And I hope you both have a pleasant rest of your work day. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’

It isn’t long afterward that he’s skimming down the Citadel’s great stairway, brimming with relief at the thought of finally being able to go home, when suddenly—

_Ignis?_

Not a hallucination. Not a fantasy.

Noctis’ voice reverberates in his ears, distinct and clear as day.

A familiar crackle burns along the edges of his hearing, somewhat louder and sharper than he’s ever heard it before; startled, he spins on his heel, blood thundering at the peak of his throat.

But even in his blindness, he can sense that there’s no one there. All that greets him is a rolling chill, the quiet stillness of the late afternoon, and nothing but the wind.

* * *

Sometimes, only a mellow evening bath can soothe him.

Although it isn’t particularly something that he’s ever been set on reveling in too lavishly, generally speaking, what with resources continuing to be rather scarce in the months following the war and water still being deemed as something of a luxury; but even sparingly filling up the tub halfway and letting the placid silence dissolve into his skin for a little while is more than enough for him, in all respects.

Especially when – considering the onslaught of unexplainable dreams he’s been having lately – he’s maybe been somewhat more restless, more rattled, than he really knows how to deal with.

Cool droplets trickle down along the wiry planes of his arms and legs when he’s had his fill and is climbing out of the tub at last; with that, he promptly moves to shake himself off, and pat himself dry.

It’s going to be a quiet night.

He’s only just leaving the bathroom and is making his way toward his bedroom, towel loosely slung around his hips and damp wisps of hair hanging limply into his lashes, when all of a sudden, everything starts to flicker far too brightly in his field of vision: a pale, ruthless burn of white.

Then – he’s unexpectedly thrown into a scene that he can see clearly enough that it’s almost as if it’s coming from another set of eyes.

And it isn’t the sight on its own that’s sending him reeling.

‘… Iggy, yes, _god_ —’

Any startled noise that Ignis could’ve possibly let out straight-up dies in his throat.

He can actually _feel him_ right now. The slick of Noctis’ sweat, the heat of his gasps, the headiness of his scent. The wet flick of his tongue against the seam of Ignis’ lips, the blunt half-circles of his fingernails sinking into Ignis’ skin.

And the blood-hot, rigid length of his naked cock sliding right up against Ignis’ own.

Every rational thought immediately flies right out of Ignis’ head.

Whatever this is – whatever’s happening right now, it’s enough to have him trembling at the knees.

Because he isn’t _seeing_ this like he’s watching a movie play out. For whatever reason, it feels like he’s actually _in_ this. Like his fingers are actually grasping at the faint dips of Noctis’ waist, like Noctis’ legs are actually folded snugly around the crests of his hips from underneath him while they’re grinding together, raw and feverish, filthy and smoldering. He leans down, then – and he’s doubtlessly the one who’s moving his body, but at the same time, it also isn’t him, for some reason – to trail his lips and tongue in a wet, scorching stripe along the protruding vein of Noctis’ throat, which has Noctis spilling out a shaky groan from between his teeth, fingertips raking over Ignis’ shoulder blades with all the more vigor like he’s teetering along the tightrope of indulgence.

Ignis’ initial surprise melts away into the intoxicating friction, skin grazing against skin, cock gliding over cock, and suddenly, Noctis is pretty much all that he feels and sees, all that he tastes and _wants_. It quickly sets every one of his nerve endings on fire, leaving him desperately craving _more_ – and Noctis seems to concur, judging by the way he suddenly grabs onto Ignis’ forearms and flips them both over with impressive deftness and strength so that he’s now riding on top with Ignis supine underneath him.

And Noctis throwing his head back, rocking himself sensuously, eagerly on Ignis’ hips, is probably one of the most incredible things Ignis has ever seen in his life.

He’s more or less a complete wreck already just from that, such that he can only curl tensed fingers into Noctis’ hipbones and rasp a broken litany of Noctis’ name through slack, bitten lips while bucking up against him in turn; but all in all, he’s spared no more time to soak any of it in.

Because just as Noctis is arching himself over to press an agonizingly tender kiss to Ignis’ mouth, everything abruptly cuts out to black – and just like that, Ignis is thrown back into the gaping dark of his blindness, into the mundane of his apartment, into the stillness of his surroundings.

A clear, sharp crackle rips through the air, fleeting but fervent, like a paper-thin sliver of lightning.

He stumbles a little, groping frantically at the nearby chair at his desk, breaths dragging into his lungs in deep gasps and dizziness swirling at his temples like a storm. His blood pounds at his throat; pulses between his hips.

On top of everything … he’s fiercely, painfully hard.

He swallows, heart skipping a beat.

Without giving it even a second thought, he unslings the towel from around his waist, letting it drop and pool around his ankles all but forgotten, before curling long fingers haphazardly around his own cock to stroke himself with abandon.

The after-traces of Noctis’ touch still lingers like a shadow splashed across his skin, like phantom fingertips ghosting across the knolls of his ribs, and all Ignis can think about as his palm’s skimming over his own length is how deliciously keen and sure Noctis’ hands on him had been, how _amazing_ the slick hardness of their cocks had felt lined up, rutting together; Ignis lets out a sharp whimper from the peak of his throat, then, unable to help himself. Because even in his blindness, he can still see it burned into the backs of his eyelids – the gradually fading image of every fluid curve of Noctis’ sinuous body pressed into his own, skin glistening with a sheen of sweat, a smooth and beautiful jewel amid the darkness of the evening and the room itself: Noctis Lucis Caelum, a striking star framed against the backdrop of the night sky.

 _Ignis’_ star, sweet and stunning from every conceivable angle.

He clamps his teeth together, lax wrist flicking with every upstroke; he’d never be able to stop even if he tried.

It’s hardly even been a minute, and he already knows that there’s no way he’ll last much longer. Not with every leftover tendril of Noctis’ illusory voice echoing all the way down to the marrow of his bones, and sending shivers up his spine. Not when even the fantasy of reaching over to take eager hold of the backs of Noctis’ thighs with both hands – and to then slide a little way up to grasp onto Noctis’ cheeks, hoisting him in closer, heightening that gorgeous pressure on both of their cocks – is getting him keyed up enough to pump himself even faster, harder, messier; it isn’t long at all, then, before he’s tightening his grip on himself with such earnestness that he can almost believe that it’s still Noctis that he’s feeling at every nerve ending, and over every pore.

Maybe it is, in more ways than one.

Just thumbing momentarily against his own slit and briefly tracing tiny whorls against the sensitive underside of his cock has him stirring alive with even more electric thrill in no time, and soon enough, Noctis’ name is pouring uncontrollably from his lips with his next exhale and he’s rocking unashamedly into the circle of his own fist, almost driven wild by the passing mental image of Noctis’ thighs urgently tightening around the points of his hips, the rich luxury of Noctis’ scent and sweat and skin, and simply _Noctis_ as a whole. The building tension coils at the pit of his gut, charges along the length of his spine, enough for his blood to pound through his veins, enough for his toes to curl taut – and then, with a quivering moan scratching out from between his teeth and all of his muscles heaving, he comes.

There’s an indescribable edge to it that he’s never felt in all the rare times that he’s touched himself before. An immense surge of gratification as his bones lock up and he surrenders himself to the indulgent heat; a fulfilling wetness spilling over his own fingers like he’s really just been tipped over the brink of the precipice from Noctis’ touch. But at the same time, there’s some strange hollowness twisting in his stomach, too, like every last thread of his being knows that Noctis isn’t physically here even if his body can’t tell the difference.

Limbs going slack, bones warm and droopy and sated, but his chest hurts like it’s never had before.

The fingers of his other hand gradually unclench, letting go of the back of the wooden chair; all at once, his knees give way from underneath him without warning, and he crumples to the floor in a flimsy heap, worn and devastated.

After everything, he still can’t understand why.

Which is made even worse, perhaps, in knowing that all of what he’s been seeing may just be exactly what he’d think of as a perfect life.

* * *

And the corners of the throne room thrum with residual echoes, sometimes, of Noctis’ vibrant laughter and of Ignis’ own flustered exclamations following behind – bright, bubbling voices of a bygone childhood hanging in all the little nooks and alcoves where they’d used to play as young boys.

Given how much being in there blooms an already-swollen ache to his chest these days, though, it’s maybe a blessing in itself that his blindness won’t allow him to see it anymore.

There’d been a time when he would’ve liked to have seen Noctis seated on the throne, really; but now, even the thought of having him safe and alive and well seems—

—Ignis shakes his head, shakes those thoughts clean away, and tries to quicken his footsteps down the corridor as he passes the open double doors.

‘Ignis.’

His heart jumps straight up into his throat.

A crackle of static; a throb in his temples; a wash of cool air, almost displaced, like the gradual opening of some gateway that he can’t see. He pivots on his feet, and suddenly, everything spins kind of dizzily and colors and shapes start to slowly, steadily seep into the edges of his hollow and blackened eyesight: a vision coming alive, a daydream made real in a way he can’t even begin to understand.

Because he’s wide awake right now, and he knows it.

The hazy blur of the world in front of him eventually sharpens, then, molding itself bit by bit into the lines and structures of the throne room, along with a palpable, distinct figure within it; by the time the dull headache’s trickled away, he can somehow _see_ Noctis standing in front of him, true and solid, plain as day.

It isn’t all totally clear and crisp – a state that’s maybe perfectly halfway between complete blindness and flawless clarity. A seamless blend of both, overlaid on top of one another. But whatever the case may be, Noctis is still visible to him, either way.

His mouth goes slack, speechless.

The sight sends a prickle, a _sting_ , swelling through his chest cavity.

From what he can see, Noctis looks well. Healthy, vibrant. And even with the thin lines of age slightly etched around his eyes, his skin’s as radiantly flushed as if all of his worst years are now behind him.

His eyebrows slant as he carefully eyes Ignis up and down, and there’s some degree of shock layered through his expression at first, before it proceeds to melt into a striking mixture of realization and sadness.

‘… Your scar, I—’ he breathes, quiet and overwhelmed. ‘You’re not the Ignis I know, are you.’

Truth be told, Ignis hadn’t wanted to believe it.

Because Noctis’ words can’t be taken in any way other than to mean a parallel self, which should technically be impossible. Judging by what Ignis had seen lately, that’d mean a world where he isn’t blind. A world where Noctis is alive. A world where they’re more than happy together. A world with a different outcome.

A mirror timeline, for all intents and purposes: essentially a _Verse Two_ of sorts, or something like that.

And that’d mean that this isn’t exactly the Noctis he knows, either.

‘… These last few months, I thought I’d been having weird dreams and wild hallucinations, y’know? Seeing people I knew in situations that weren’t familiar to me. Seeing things that seemed real even when I don’t remember them having ever happened. And it’s been the same for – uh, the other you,’ Noctis thoughtfully bites down on his lip. ‘Has it been for you, too?’

That straight-up freezes Ignis in his tracks.

It makes _sense_. He’d since wondered about his aborted mission to change their destinies, when he’d gone back in time and made a different choice, only to change his mind and bail not long afterward in Zegnautus Keep. He’d also since thought back to the loud, sickening crack that he’d heard as he’d been brought back into the present day, as if something – maybe the fabric between separate universes – had been ruptured or split apart in the wake of his unexpected retreat. And now, _this_. This slice of proof, risen from the ashes of that interrupted mission, that there must now be an alternate reality where life _had_ turned out for the better.

It’s enough to drain all the breath from his lungs.

‘Noct,’ he answers, bewildered. ‘I …’

Before he can say anything else, though, his surroundings start to flicker oddly between colors, between light and shadow, as if everything around him is shifting, rippling, only half-stable; from what Ignis can tell, the strange fluctuation must be visible to Noctis as well, because Noctis is also looking around, seeming surprised and confused.

And then the flicker briefly passes over Noctis himself, too, which immediately slides his expression into a peculiar, intense look.

‘I’m sorry.’ Noctis sweeps loose, slackened fingers upward to his sternum in indication, and Ignis can feel the grief throbbing in his own ribcage, just seeing it. ‘You’re been in so much pain, haven’t you.’

Bizarrely enough, there’s a different tone and quality to the words; almost as though he’s transformed in some way from a few seconds ago.

‘But hey. All of this,’ he continues while waving a hand to gesture at everything around him, and the sentiment comes out heavy, almost as if the memory of torment and unspeakable hardship is hanging unspoken behind it. ‘Is this something you might wanna change?’

With that, Ignis’ lips part, and his jaw sinks open.

Because this is _his_ Noctis – he’s sure of it. The Noctis from _his_ world. The Noctis he _knows_ ; the Noctis he’s known all his life.

For whatever reason, between one sentence and the next, Noctis appears to have slid from one version of himself to the other. And Ignis doesn’t exactly understand how, or why, but either way, he’s not about to let this chance pass him by.

‘What do you mean?’ he hurries to say, pulse instantly racing. ‘How would I do that?’

But he can tell by the next abrupt shift in Noctis’ expression that _his Noctis_ has gone almost as quickly as he’d come, what with the throne room around them starting to flicker again as if the two evidently separate planes are blinking in and out of each other, as well as the familiar static that Ignis has grown to recognize so well now sizzling louder in his ears than he ever remembers it being in the past.

For a moment, Ignis feels almost paralyzed. As though he can see what’s going on, but isn’t altogether in control of his body or his movements.

He stares straight at Noctis, who looks beyond startled; who now seemingly has the same mood and air and bearing as the alternate Noctis from before.

Without a doubt, he must’ve switched back.

‘… Did that just happen?’ Ignis’ mouth says, and it’s him talking, but it’s _not_ him talking. As if the words are tumbling automatically from out of a parallel mind, a different _him_.

Noctis nods quickly in confirmation, dark pupils blown wide with obvious shock.

And then everything in front of Ignis crumbles apart in his grasp, pouring away from his fingertips like it’d never been within reach to begin with; his eyesight wanes, all colors withering, and he’s suddenly thrust back into the chilling darkness that he’s lived with all this time.

RIght back to the monochrome world that he’s long come to know.

* * *

It’s another month or two before any substantial incident happens to cross his path again.

Not that that actually amounts to any real kind of break, at this point, given how much work he’s had to sink himself into all the while. But then again, he wouldn’t say it’s a bad thing either, really, to have his attention diverted away from the strange visions he’s been seeing; whether it’s by focusing on his job, or relaxing alone at home, or spending a quiet afternoon with his friends – anything at all.

Especially when being able to ground himself in the reality that he knows well, once in a while, is almost an unusual thing nowadays.

‘… I was told that the final renovations for the north wing should be done within the year,’ he says, working delicately through the tender slab of meat with his knife and fork. ‘Once the entire Citadel’s been thoroughly refurbished to the point where we don’t have to worry about practically pole-vaulting ourselves over patches of cracked flooring anymore, it’ll be easier to get our full government back in session to get everywhere else rebuilt faster, I suspect.’

‘Yeah, gotta admit I seriously underestimated how efficient it was gonna be to have all citizens pitch in to work on rebuilding their own homes, too,’ Gladiolus answers with thoughtful interest, the words muffled by a mouthful of food. ‘Won’t lie, I expected progress to be a lot slower than this.’

‘Probably wouldn’t be that way if you weren’t spearheading a lot of it, Igster,’ Prompto chimes in appreciatively; he must be finished, because Ignis can hear steel utensils clattering brightly against a solid plate as they’re seemingly set down. ‘Man, that was _so good_. Thanks for coming by and bringing dinner, dude.’

‘My pleasure. Shall I quickly start preparing dessert?’ Ignis moves to set his own cutlery down momentarily, too, while rising from his seat. ‘All we’ve got is fruit, to be honest, but that’s an improvement on—’

He’s barely even finished talking when a white-hot brightness flashes suddenly across the lifeless black of his frame of vision, and the inside of his head starts to churn off-balance in a way that he can ominously remember from his encounter with other-Noctis a while back; it’s only when the dizziness has gradually eased away at last that he notices that his eyesight’s opened up to enough of a degree that he’s actually seeing again.

And somehow, he’s ended up in the Citadel’s grand hall.

Which is lined with lords and ladies and regular citizens alike: an innumerable crowd filling the space from wall to wall and cut in the middle by a clean, wide gap. Glistening music threads itself gracefully through the air and Ignis doesn’t hesitate to make his way down that empty aisle, taking one step after another, stirred to life by a nervous anticipation and joy that he can actually _feel_ simmering in his belly; at the end of the path, Noctis is standing on a tall dais while looking directly at him – like he _only_ has eyes for him – with something close to adoration splayed across his features. For whatever reason, Noctis is also handsomely decked out in a more embellished version of his full kingly raiment right now, looking every bit the regal monarch he is, tall and proud and impressive with Gladiolus and Prompto peacefully flanking him on either side.

At first, Ignis can only swivel his head from one way to the other to absorb the scene around him in mild confusion. But then, every bit of excruciating detail that he’s seeing slowly starts to sink in, and realization crashes suddenly on him like a swelling tide.

This is a royal wedding.

He and Noctis … are currently getting married.

Sucking in a broken, jagged breath, his knees buckle like he’s lost all balance in his feet.

The subsequent treads he takes down the aisle stagger clumsily, feet leaden and heavy, uneven heartbeats racing a million miles a minute. There are far too many people here, all watching him; everyone’s eyes burn into him hot and merciless, searing into his skin, which manages to send him stumbling over his next step—

—Straight into two firm pairs of waiting hands.

‘… Iggy!’

‘What happened,’ Gladiolus’ voice fades in sharply, almost on the edge of sounding a little scared. ‘You alright?’

The vibrancy of the grand hall plummets into a familiar ocean of black, leaving Ignis wide-eyed, breathless. Slivers of elegant music abruptly cut away; every lively stir of movement around him stills until all that’s left is the unmoving air of Prompto’s apartment, his own full-chested gasps, the deafening crackle in his ears, and both of his friends’ sturdy grip on him, holding him upright.

Loud heartbeats drum up against the roof of his mouth, and he thickly swallows.

‘Yes,’ he hurries to say, pulling himself back together and regretfully shrugging his friends’ hands off both of his shoulders, before making an instant beeline for the door. ‘I’m sorry. I ought to go home.’

‘… Iggy,’ Gladiolus says, halfway between exasperation and warning.

‘You said it yourself, Gladio. I need some time,’ Ignis cuts in, strict and efficient, before Gladiolus can say anything else. ‘I’m fine. I just – I need to go.’

‘Let one of us at least walk you home.’ Prompto’s voice comes genuinely shaken, insistent. ‘C’mon, it’s not like it’s gonna be an inconvenience when you live just upstairs and Gladio’s only down the hall. It’ll take a massive load off my mind if we know you got back to your apartment safe. Okay?’

And Prompto’s caught up to him before he knows it, laying a steady hand on his upper back in a supportive and guiding manner; Ignis grits his teeth as they make their way out the door.

Thrice, now, have these scenes or encounters come to him while he’s been fully awake. That said, with the sizzling noises growing louder and the visions becoming more vivid, it’s hard for him not to suspect that the unmistakable tear in the fabric of space may be getting even wider. Even worse.

At this rate, it’s likely that _something_ has to be done.

* * *

After that, the snuffling at his ankles and affectionate nibbling at his heels comes almost twenty-four-seven.

It doesn’t take him long to get used to, at least. Not when it’s a decidedly small price to pay for the convenience of having Umbra stay within reach – even in his office, even in his apartment – and thankfully, Umbra doesn’t seem to have any objections over the matter, as far as Ignis can tell.

That said, he doesn’t know how long he has to wait.

‘Seems like I’m in for another gruelling day of work ahead,’ he sighs to Umbra as he makes his way out of the apartment; almost immediately, he can hear the huff of enthusiastic panting right by his feet and tiny footfalls following in his steps. ‘Come now, best we get to the Citadel quickly.’

Truth be told, he can’t help being a little nervous.

The mysterious spatial rift could open up again at any moment, and he’d have to leap into instant movement without a second’s spare thought; he can imagine that having to repair a crack in the veil between universes isn’t exactly like stitching up a torn shirt, or akin to anything else that he’s got even an iota of experience in. Hardly being an expert on how these things work isn’t altogether the best, given the circumstances – but on the other hand, the idea of trying _anything_ remotely sensible certainly feels like enough to actually fill him with a kindling of determined hope, and traveling back in time to the precise point where the dimensional fabric had ripped in order to land himself right inside that open gash is a plan that he can definitely see as promising.

In any case, it’s maybe getting harder and harder to deny that he’d likely been the cause of the tear. That something seemed to have gone wrong back at Zegnautus Keep in the wake of his changed decision, and that everything that’d transpired after that must’ve been a result of that one misstep.

Not to mention … the more he’s gotten to see Noctis, whether it’s through visions or otherwise, the more he’s starting to realize how much he _wants_ to see more of him.

Which, needless to say, is a separate kettle of fish entirely, really. One that he knows, deep down, he can’t indulge in even when it’s itching at his nerve endings at all hours of the day, every day.

‘… I mean, Noct didn’t give everything to save the world just for me to make a mess of things like this and have it all come apart,’ springs out of his mouth all of a sudden; he scratches somewhat restlessly at his wrist. ‘We’ll put everything back in working order, won’t we?’

He gets a mellow, happy bark from next to his feet in reply.

To some extent, though, he’d vaguely considered ignoring all the signs, called by the temptation of turning a blind eye to the breach continually rupturing itself open much larger; the light breaking from it burning much brighter; the static noise emanating from it growing much louder every time. Even with having turned it over and over in his mind for days on end, he’d still entertained the idea of potentially risking letting the world crumble to pieces just to see Noctis again.

But in the end, he isn’t that kind of person – he’s never been, in any way, shape, or form; and he knows it.

On top of that, he’s more than aware of the fact that Noctis wouldn’t ever have wanted him to make such a choice anyway.

The opportunity to set things right comes a little over two weeks later, at the very least, so he doesn’t end up having to wait all too long.

‘… I may leave that report for when I have more details gathered,’ he says, pursing his lips and straightening his spine. ‘You should go home, Gladio.’

‘So should you. Don’t stay too late, yeah?’ Gladiolus answers, his tone matter-of-fact. ‘You overwork as it is.’

A pointed eyebrow raise on Ignis’ part is all it takes for Gladiolus to sigh and promptly move off in acceptance; the retreating crunch of boot-treads against the crisp tile of the Citadel flooring fades away in no time, then, eventually leaving Ignis in the silence.

It’s only when he’s managed to complete all the work that he needs to and is ready to leave for the afternoon that all the waiting he’s done in the last couple of weeks finally comes to fruition – because as soon as he’s skimming down the great stairway out the front of the Citadel to make his departure, he hears it.

A familiar crackling sound.

He recognizes the telltale noise for what it is, these days: an audible sign of the surfaced presence of the spatial tear. Which is made even more concrete by the spill of pale light now trickling into the edges of his long-gone vision, too, glowing brighter than he should technically be able to register, what with his generally limited ability to detect shine and shadow.

Soon, though, he can actually see the dark eventually transitioning into a halfway degree of sight, dim and bleary but enough for certain shapes and textures in his surroundings to be semi-visible – and Ignis remembers all too clearly, judging by all the visions he’s had up to this point, how his other self had never seemed to have been blind to begin with. Which means that both worlds are definitely weaving into each other again right now, and both of his selves must currently be blending into one another again as well.

His pulse hammers deafeningly in his ears.

This is it.

It’s now or never.

‘… Ignis?’ Noctis’ voice suddenly fades in next to him, out of the blue; Ignis turns on his heel until they’re facing each other, his heart on the verge of leaping. ‘Wait, why do you have Umbra with you? What’s going on?’

‘Will you come with me? I … I need to make things right,’ Ignis says, biting back all the misgivings and uncertainties threatening to bubble up in his stomach. He momentarily swallows; tensely extends his hand. ‘I’m afraid I must go back to when and where this entire thing started.’

At first, Noctis doesn’t give any reply, and Ignis hopes that it isn’t out of line for him to have asked.

But after a while, a warm hand slowly, patiently slides into his, faint and weightless but solid enough to be irrefutably real, and just like that, Ignis is immediately brought back to that very first friendly handshake that they’d exchanged as young boys, and that very last heart-wrenching handshake that they’d shared at the campfire less than a year ago. Even with calluses now littered over Noctis’ skin from toil and war, Ignis can tell that the gentleness and sincerity in his grasp is still the same as it’s always been in all the years since they were children.

Their fingers carefully tangle into each other’s, tender and comforting and everything that Ignis associates with home.

‘Yeah,’ Noctis answers with conviction; his voice sets firm like he’s figured it out, like he completely understands. ‘I’ll help you fix this.’

And Ignis has to wonder – with a dull, thorny pain prickling along his sternum – what life’s possibly going to be like once he won’t have these visions or encounters with Noctis anymore.

But he presses his lips tightly together around that thought, sealing it away, and nods.

‘Umbra,’ he murmurs, staunch and resolute. ‘Take us back.’

A soft, eager yelp rings out in reply.

Soon enough, the world around him starts to spin, which has Noctis’ grip on his hand tightening; neither of them are even spared time to pull in another breath before they’re abruptly thrown into an ocean of empty space, plummeting downward into a massive stark-white gash that’s still incredibly bright even to Ignis’ current half-sight. It’s loud and fierce, crackling all around them like a surge of electricity, yawning open underneath their feet amid the all-too-recognizable plethora of dark walls scattered throughout Zegnautus Keep, swallowing them whole into the endless vivid gleam, roaring, piercing, going, going—

—Gone.

* * *

He opens his single unmarred eye to an endless expanse of pale ivory light.

A ghostly quiet; an endless void. Cool air swirls against the exposed points of Ignis’ skin, everywhere but along the narrow valleys where his fingers are still pressed and hooked into Noctis’. He blinks idly for a moment and starts to survey his surroundings, but there’s nothing to really look at – just himself and Noctis and Umbra and the infinite hollow space stretching out beyond their bodies on all sides.

Umbra lays himself down by Ignis’ heel without ceremony, then, as if to rest, and the flavor of relaxed satisfaction to the simple action has Ignis immediately realizing that his uncertain plan must’ve worked.

‘… Are we where I think we are?’

‘If you’re thinking that we’ve landed right inside the tear between our separate timelines, then I’d say so,’ Ignis answers, and somehow, he can _feel_ two voices rumbling from his throat even if he can only technically hear one; two parts making up one whole – a man and his reflection. ‘In any case, that was indeed my intent. Though I suppose I’ll need to figure out where to go from here.’

For a moment, Noctis shuffles in place, mouth curled into a hesitant frown. Almost like he’s biting his thoughts back; like gears are turning quickly in his mind; like he’s wondering how to word something the right way.

‘… Noct?’

It seems like forever since the last time Ignis had addressed Noctis by name.

In all honesty, they’ve only been in each other’s presence for a matter of minutes, and he can already feel the throb in his heart tissue searing from corner to corner.

‘I guess I just—’ Noctis breathes, gazing at Ignis meaningfully. ‘I’m gone, aren’t I. I mean the other me. The me that _you_ know.’

The suddenness of the question hits Ignis like a brick in the pit of his stomach.

He’d seen the promise of an unbearable loss that he’d known he’d have no way of preventing; suffered said loss without being able to do anything to stop it; and had impossible scenarios and outcomes dangled in front of him all this time in those dreams and visions and little excerpts of semi-reality, smarting in his chest cavity like a cruel tease, like a merciless joke. And now, he’s here – essentially going against everything that he's desperately been wanting by taking the moral high ground and seeking to close whatever unnatural cosmic breach this is. Which, everything considered, means that he’s undoubtedly well on his way to losing Noctis all over again out of no genuine choice of his own.

Ignis swallows around the barbed knot in his throat, and nods.

‘I’d say he _is_ you. One and the same. Just two sides of one coin.’ He can barely help the way his next exhale quivers through his teeth. ‘And I married you, didn’t I. The me that you know.’

It’s not like he really has to ask, when he can _feel_ it in his bones beyond that one vision of their wedding ceremony that he’d seen. He knows it as well as he knows his very own self; knows it as well as he knows the breath in his own lungs; knows it as well as if it’s embedded deep in his own memories.

Then again, with the way his two selves are overlapping right at this moment, it surely must be.

‘Yeah,’ Noctis answers with a shaky laugh, clearly overcome with a rising wave of happiness and a sliver of unshed tears, his voice teetering unsteadily. ‘You did.’

He squeezes Ignis’ hand with evident fondness and devotion, before drawing back and letting go.

Ignis clenches his teeth for a moment. Shifts restlessly on his feet. Pools together every ripple of boldness and courage he can possibly manage to find in his gut.

‘Noct …’ he says eventually, slow and careful, almost as if that one syllable carries the weight of his entire world in it. In the end, maybe it more or less does. ‘… I miss you.’

_I love you._

The words alone are enough to sting at his lips with all the pain of that loss, that grief, and that unrelenting stretch of darkness and ruin that’d come with the long years of the war.

Noctis nods at that, his eyes misting over, droplets of moisture beading in the spray of his dark lashes.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he murmurs in reply, with a low dip of his head. ‘For how much you’ve been hurting.’

With how everything bubbling in Ignis’ chest is threatening to spill over right now, he closes his single functional eye for a moment to at least try to keep himself tethered, the seam of his eyelid hot and wet.

Out of nowhere, a fragrance of sylleblossoms swirls past him all of a sudden, its perfumed taste coiling across his tongue; his eye slides open again to the dim sight of tension leaking out of Noctis’ face, taut mouth relaxing and brow going slack.

‘… But we’re standing here, right? At the exact point where an alternate decision had made a difference,’ Noctis says, lifting his chin high again; he sounds somewhat steadier, more composed than he’d been barely a minute before. ‘So like, just out of curiosity. Would you make _both_ choices if you could? If you knew it wouldn’t hurt anyone, or bring harm to anything?’

That stops Ignis in his tracks.

He stares at Noctis, wide-eyed – he knows that this must now be _his world’s_ Noctis, _his_ Noctis, emerging at the surface despite having already died in his timeline; there’s no mistaking it, especially judging by the sudden shift in the weight of Noctis’ tone and expression – and then he blinks, his jaw hanging open.

‘Are you suggesting that’s possible?’

Noctis pushes up a single eyebrow, pointed and somewhat enigmatic. ‘I mean, it’d probably be more accurate to say that _nothing’s impossible_. Especially not if I ask for a little help from someone who actually knows how to talk to and make deals with the gods.’

The aroma of sylleblossoms fills Ignis’ lungs again, as if to make a point, and his undamaged eye widens in realization.

He has to wonder if Lady Lunafreya is aware of what’s happening right now. If she’s somehow out there, or _here_ , watching. Waiting.

Ignis can hardly believe that he hadn’t thought of it before, because of course Noctis – at least his world’s Noctis, who’s no longer in the world of the living – would’ve been in constant communication with her all this time, and connected with her in death.

‘There’s always a price, though, from what I’ve heard.’ There’s a mild tinge of sadness subtly threaded through Noctis’ voice at this, and Ignis can’t help but wonder why. ‘I’d say it’s pretty likely going to be your own destruction – in one way or another. Something in your core, you know, in exchange for what you’ve been wanting. In a safe trade.’

That doesn’t surprise Ignis as much as he’d thought it might.

After all, there’s so much of him that’s already been hollowed out. That can be _built over_ , but can never really be _rebuilt_. That’s suffered under the weight of tremendous loss and, no matter how efficiently he heals and moves on, will never actually be exactly the same as he used to be.

And he’s accepted the fact that he’s going to live with that, really. At the same time, though—

—It’s hard to overlook a chance to be able to ask for something when he’s spent more or less his entire life holding back all his wants, and refraining from doing anything for himself.

That said, it’s probably hard to say for sure what the exact requirement or cost for the exchange may be, just from Noctis’ vague explanation. But if, for whatever reason, this really means getting the chance to have Noctis back?

Then hell, his own self is a price that he’ll be more than willing to pay.

‘Yes,’ he says breathlessly, and there’s a fullness in the base of his stomach that feels like determination, resolution, certainty. Like both he and his mirror image are thinking and moving in perfect sync. Like his happier self, the other side of his soul, is in tune enough with his pain right now; wired tightly enough to every scorching bit of his grief to the point where this isn’t a hard decision for him to willingly make, especially if it’ll also help seal the tear that’s formed between their worlds. ‘I’d make that trade.’

A tiny curve quirks upward at the edges of Noctis’ lips, faint but heavy, thick with unsaid emotion.

‘Okay. See you soon, Iggy,’ he answers, and before Ignis knows it, the taste of sylleblossoms flourishes over his tongue again, and everything he’s seeing fades to a hot, blinding white.

* * *

When he opens his eyes again, he’s greeted by the black sightlessness that he’s always known.

He moves to stretch his arms, lax and heavy; his mouth’s coaxed open by the syrupy lure of a full-bodied yawn. The relaxation winding through his bones is unusual – almost like he’s just had the best night’s sleep in a long time. Something that, as far he’s concerned, really only comes once in a blue moon, especially when taking his endless work and _everything else_ into consideration.

It’s when he’s automatically, unthinkingly reaching up to rub the residual grit out of his eyes – an action that oddly comes like it’s second nature, despite the fact that he only tends to rub one single eye nowadays – that he abruptly stops, caught by a startling realization.

For one thing, he’s able to open his left eye just fine, after it’d been burned and fused tightly shut for well over ten long years.

For another, the skin around his eye has turned level and smooth for some reason, like there’s no scarring there at all.

‘Yeah, your scars are gone,’ says a calm, gentle voice beside him.

Ignis’ heart almost comes to a complete stop.

He’d been so unguarded, at ease, that he hadn’t realized at all until just now that next to him in the bed—

‘… And you’re alive?’ he says, voice thin and quivering.

‘Yeah,’ Noctis answers with the smallest wisp of a laugh, teeming with outright joy and relief in every inch of the sentiment. ‘I’m here.’

Ignis doesn’t even wait. A tiny noise of desperation scratches out of his throat and he hoists himself up into a sitting position, sweeping over to immediately gather Noctis into his arms; the position’s maybe a little awkward and not altogether the best, given that they’re side-by-side in bed and have to twist themselves somewhat to embrace each other fully, but Ignis is hardly about to complain at this point. Not when it’s practically been an eternity since the last time they’d hugged, and Noctis is fitting so perfectly into all of his dips and corners right now, like he’s always belonged. Like he’d never been gone.

Then again, the warmth and sensitivity in Noctis’ touch is so clear-cut that it’s not long before Ignis can feel a smattering of memories – simultaneously unfamiliar and familiar ones – slowly pouring into his conscious thoughts, little by little; memories that he somehow knows are completely new to him, but at the same time, _fit_ into his veins and his breaths and his body quite comfortably as if his muscles and bones remember them. As if he’d actually done such things.

Technically speaking, maybe he _had_.

So maybe, in one way or another, Noctis had always been alive and here, too.

‘It worked, then,’ Ignis says, slowly pulling away from the hug at last; the words leave his mouth as more of a question than an actual affirmation.

‘Yeah. The rift’s been sealed out of existence, and hey – seems like we’re now a blend of two timelines merged into one,’ Noctis says, voice slightly roughened with the weight of labor and tiredness, as though it’d taken some hard effort for him to have negotiated with the gods to accept the trade. ‘You were blind in one world and fully sighted in the other, and, like … that blindness was part of a blood price that couldn’t be undone, right? But as it turns out, the scarring over your eye was actually only a flesh wound from the magical burn that _could_ be erased. So you’ve essentially kept the blindness from one self, while keeping the uninjured, undamaged body from the other self. And now that everything’s all merged together, I was pretty much able to choose to stay dead like in one timeline, or come back here and live like I did in the other, y’know? Well, it wasn’t a hard choice, I can tell you that.’

Just hearing it is enough to send a sharp pang through Ignis’ chest.

It all makes sense to him, really. Especially considering the fact that in the white void, Noctis had mentioned _making both choices_ ; logically speaking, that decision could really only have brought about the outcome of merging both timelines, with certain things kept and erased from each. Which is even more likely given how jumbled his mind is right now, flooded with too many random recollections that he knows are coming from two separate planes of existence, as though he’s retained the full memory of both worlds.

A brand new, combined universe, likely filled with even more challenges and uncertainties. After all, he knows that they’ll have to take extra-careful steps in talking to anyone at all from this point forward, particularly in trying to determine which exact pieces of history have been left intact.

But he isn’t too worried, in the general scheme of things. Not when Noctis is now here with him again.

‘Are we the only two people that remember?’

‘That there were two separate worlds? Yeah.’ Noctis confirms, and there’s a small wet sound as though he’s licking his lips in thought. ‘We’re the only ones that remember the things that happened in both, too. Everyone else is only gonna remember one sequence of events, though. I made sure that that’d be the case.’

‘I feel – somewhat less adept,’ Ignis says, grazing his own palm with the fingertips of the other hand in an inspecting, exploratory way. There’s a strange diffusion to all of his nerve endings, almost as if they’re less keen and sharp compared to usual in the murk of his sightlessness. ‘Well, I suppose that’s to be expected for a body that’s only just now physically experiencing blindness for the first time. It’s rather odd … my mind’s familiar with the darkness, but my arms and legs and center of gravity don’t feel like they do. I suspect it may be a little while before I find my balance again, as I managed to do in the past.’

‘It won’t take you long, I’m sure.’ Noctis reaches over, strokes gently across the line of Ignis’ wrist. ‘You’re still you, in the end. And it isn’t like either of your two selves actually got erased, or whatever. It’s like you told me – you were both one and the same even back then. And you still are.’

It’s close to overwhelming, hearing every bit of it laid out in actual words; Ignis’ breath shudders in his lungs.

‘Everything’s fixed now, yeah? No matter what happened as a result of you aborting that mission.’ Noctis shifts lower in the bed as if to make himself a little more comfortable. ‘You’ve, like, more or less been brought together into one whole now. So have I. So has everyone else.’

‘… That’s good. That we repaired everything,’ Ignis replies, keeping his voice light and level despite almost reeling from how much he has to take in all at once. And then, with a mild hint of pleasant amusement, he continues: ‘I don’t quite remember you and I making a habit of sleeping together in one bed, though. Not since we were children, at least. Is that something that we do now?’

The only answer he gets to that is a dead, haunting silence.

A vague, fuzzy knot gnarls itself in Ignis’ head, and all of a sudden, he’s swallowed by a niggling feeling; almost as if his own brain’s straining outward against a barrier of unseen walls. Almost as if the cloud of mist that’s currently hanging in there is brazenly taking the place of something else.

‘Noct?’

He can’t tell what it is, exactly, but there’s _definitely_ something out of place. Like something that’s always been carved into his bones, tangled into his veins, is now gone.

It’s hard to know what to make of it.

‘… Um, Ignis, I—’ Noctis eventually says, voice trailing out small and uneven. ‘You remember what the trade was, right? The destruction of your own self. Like … a part of yourself pretty much had to be stamped out of you, basically, to make all of this happen.’

Ignis’ muscles start to tense at that.

‘I’m – you’re not gonna remember this, so it might sound pretty weird – but in one of the timelines, we were … we were actually together. Like, y’know, lovers. Married, even.’ Now, Noctis’ voice is actually shivering, like his heart’s falling to pieces, and Ignis can outright feel the painful sting of it reverberating right in the marrow of his own bones. ‘I suppose – I should probably be flattered about the fact that _I’m_ the thing that made up your heart and soul, to the point where the gods thought that _that_ was the most ideal price for you to pay and the most suitable thing for you to lose, but, uh. Guess I’m glad to at least be here with you, alive and healthy and all that. Even though I’m not sure where we stand now. Or where we’re gonna go from here.’

So that’s what it is. That fog in his mind: a series of missing memories, missing sentiments, missing feelings.

It does seem to line up exactly with what Noctis is saying, because try as he might, Ignis can’t remember anything like that. Half of the visions and glimpses that he’s had in the last few months since the time travel mission aren’t more than a bleary haze to him right now, and even in his normal first-hand memories – especially the new ones that he knows are a result of the merge of the timelines – there’s what feels like a slightly muddled patchwork of indistinct blocks and fragments, too, as if certain sections of his life have been smudged over and made illegible.

His chest throbs with something that isn’t there, but also _is_ there, somehow, all at the same time.

‘I’m so sorry, Noct. It’s naught but an indistinct blur to me,’ he admits, the space beneath his ribs aching with the realization. But he moves his hand across to slip into Noctis’, their knuckles grazing together; some strange, deeply buried instinct in him manages to flicker awake from that, leaving him more or less expecting to feel the cool metal of a wedding band on Noctis’ finger, but he finds nothing other than the warmth of Noctis’ skin – at which point Ignis realizes all of a sudden that there’s no wedding band on his own finger, either.

Noctis sucks in a breath at that, seeming surprised.

‘But I can certainly imagine and believe, for a variety of reasons, that we were lovers,’ Ignis continues, before clearing his throat; a wave of heat washes over his face beyond his control. ‘And … if you’d like, we can certainly try to work our way back there, regardless of how much time it’ll possibly take. I may no longer have those memories, which is very much a shame. But I’d be more than willing and happy to write some new ones together with you.’

With that, he carefully raises their joined hands up to his mouth, pressing his lips with fond reverence to the back of Noctis’ palm.

And that’s all it takes for the dam to break.

Noctis sweeps closer and slides the fingers of his free hand over Ignis’ collarbone in an earnest, pleading request, his accompanying exhale trembling like he’s never wanted anything more; so Ignis gladly leans in, pressing a soft, half-shy kiss to Noctis’ mouth that’s more than readily returned in an instant – and he can almost immediately tell that this is something he’s done a hundred times before, something that fits into the corners of his heart, something that can’t be erased from the unchanging depths of his very being even if the relevant memories of it are gone.

The salt of Noctis’ tears settle into the seam of his lips, and everything considered, his own eyes aren’t exactly any less dry.

Noctis isn’t dead and gone. Noctis is _here_ , with him, and not a single thing in the universe could possibly feel more right than this.

They stay that way for a long time, sunken into the raw tenderness of each other’s warmth and scent and skin, in a soothing kiss that has more happiness in it than any loss and more of a beginning to it than any end, while the new world starts to turn around them – steady, stirring, and boundlessly radiant with colors that even a blind man can clearly see.

* * *

‘I mean, it seems like a perfect merge to me,’ Noctis says, reaching over to appreciatively rub roughened fingertips across Ignis’ thigh. ‘I’m pretty amazed.’

Ignis takes the hand that’s in his lap with gentle contentment, and interlaces their loose, pliant fingers together. ‘I take it that your brunch went well, then?’

‘I mean, it was kinda hard trying to be subtle about this stuff when you and I are the only two people that remember that two timelines existed, you know?’ Noctis clears his throat thoughtfully, tugs in a shallow inhale. ‘But hell, I just gradually worked it into the conversation, and Prom’s and Gladio’s memories are like … a pretty damn seamless combination of the two sets of events, from what I can gather. As in, they remember you telling them that you’d chosen to go with Ardyn as per one timeline, but that putting the ring on when you fought him still made you lose your eyesight as per the other. They remember still taking the train with me anyway, although it was without you. They remember Prom still falling off the train and being taken along the way, with Gladio and I apparently going to Zegnautus Keep to find him, and then you. And they remember me going into the Crystal as per my own decision – so they remember me surviving, and have no recollection of me ever dying. Stuff like that.’

He squeezes Ignis’ palm, patient and meaningful.

‘… So the gods did pull out all the stops, then. Made sure that there weren’t any flaws or holes in the merging. I’m impressed that even your memorial stone is gone,’ Ignis rolls each word carefully on his tongue, taking his time to read their contours and gauge their weight. Then, bracing himself, he continues, ‘Noct, If I may ask … what do Prompto and Gladio remember about us? Do you know?’

‘They, uh. They don’t remember anything about us being together.’ Noctis’ tone starts to topple sideways at that, turning quieter, more subdued. ‘Like, they were pretty happy for us when I mentioned that we were kinda feeling things out with each other right now, but … from what I can tell after having asked around, no one seems to remember us ever being in a relationship, or getting married. It’s like none of it ever happened, except _I remember_ , and I seem to be the only one who does. Which, you know. It really sucks, ‘cause I thought that you’d be the only one whose memories of the whole thing would be wiped out, but I guess it’s one way of making sure that your overall payment and loss was really thorough. Both of us waking up without our wedding bands makes sense to me now.’

Ignis slopes himself back to lean against the step behind him, biting down on his lip momentarily in contemplation.

‘It may be a shame that neither they nor I remember,’ he says at last, slow and regretful. ‘But on the other hand – if passing time does manage to get us to that stage all over again, then I can’t think of anything more wonderful than a second wedding, truth be told.’

For a few seconds, he’s met with a hushed, breathless pause. But before long, it’s broken by Noctis releasing the most delicate sliver of a laugh.

‘Yeah,’ he answers, voice watery and tremulous. ‘I’d love that.’

Ignis’ lips curve upward at the corners in a faint smile.

He can imagine, sitting together with Noctis on the great stairway out the front of the Citadel as he is currently, that the view of the early sundown in front of him is probably more than beautiful. Brilliant pinks and oranges and purples blend and drip into the very edges of his blackened vision like the sweetest honey, like hope in the darkness, like vibrancy in the monochrome – and in one way or another, that alone is enough to give him a solid picture of what it must look like.

‘… I’m so lucky,’ he says, simple as ever; it comes out sensitive, heartfelt. ‘That I now get to start and end each day with you.’

‘You’ll have all the days ahead of you for that. ’Cause I don’t plan on going anywhere,’ Noctis replies warmly, sliding in a little closer to rest his head sideways against Ignis’ shoulder. ‘I’m gonna be here, _yours_ , for as long as you want me.’

Ignis nods in acceptance, throat tightening. He tilts sideward, too, to settle his head with ease against the soft crown of Noctis’ hair.

All things considered, it’s almost hard to believe that this isn’t a dream. That this isn’t a vision, or a hallucination. That they really are here, alive, well. _Together_.

‘Same here.’

Whatever may be up ahead, he’s more than ready to face it.

And this time, Noctis will be right by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for making it to the end ♥️ If you're willing to spare a few moments of your time, I'd love to hear what you think! This has been a pretty special project for me to work on, so your opinions/feedback would mean the world to me.
> 
> Come chat to me about FFXV on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/silverxharmony/status/1223237684862210048) or [Tumblr](https://harmonization.tumblr.com/post/190575940216/) (just be warned though that I’m a multishipper – ignoct isn’t the only ship I like, although I still do have plenty of fic ideas for them!! Should I write even more ignoct? Haha). I'd always love to make new FFXV friends! :)


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